


A good tailor never reveals his secrets

by bongbingbong



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Autistic Julian Bashir, Elim Garak: Anxiety Lizard, Pre-Slash, We don't deserve Keiko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bongbingbong/pseuds/bongbingbong
Summary: A typical day in Garak's Clothiers. In which everybody's favourite anxiety-filled lizard spends his time trying to make everybody else's lives a little easier, as much as he'd like you to think otherwise.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 17
Kudos: 143





	A good tailor never reveals his secrets

**Author's Note:**

> I just love Garak a lot, and I can see him being very kind, but only if he can manage to do it in secret, and even if he insists to himself that his motivations are strictly utilitarian. I also love thinking about what the hell it is he actually does all day in that shop!
> 
> While this doesn't have any of our OC characters from [Deep Space Discord](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DiscordLitUniverse) as mains, they do crop up throughout because this is set in the same universe.

Elim Garak went to sleep late and woke early. More often than not, he relied on exhaustion to send him to sleep, and when he woke, it was all at once, from rest to a wakefulness that buzzed with adrenaline, making the tips of his fingers tingly and numb as he breathed deeply and willed his heart rate to slow. Some part of him always ached in the mornings; pulling on his clothes felt like trying to force his limbs through thick syrup. He blamed the cold - the station always seemed freezing when it was this early. He had been assured by many different officers on many different occasions that the temperature on the station was kept at a constant, but he was sure they were lying.

The chill settled deep into his bones as he made his way to his shop, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around himself as he walked. Despite this, there was an odd kind of peacefulness to the promenade at this time of the morning, given it was usually deserted. It was comforting to him; having the area to himself made him breathe a little easier. From a more utilitarian perspective, it also made traversing the corridors of Deep Space Nine a sight less dangerous for him, and it meant that he had time to scope out any tampering people might have done with his storefront overnight. 

His suspicions were not often confirmed - for the most part, people tended to avoid him rather than confront him. This morning, however, was different. Garak was greeted with the word “SPOON HEADS” scrawled across his front door in Bajoran. The letters were untidy, scrawled at just below shoulder height. The use of the plural suggested that whoever had written the words had likely copied the slogan from somewhere else, an article perhaps, given that he was the only Cardassian on the station. This was clearly the work of a child. Garak sighed, and wandered inside to get the sonic scrubber he kept out the back for these occasions. Better to get this over with before anybody else saw - the last thing he needed right now was for someone to make a fuss.

*

Garak’s current work list was as follows:

  * A handful of minor clothing alterations for various Starfleet crew members (the replicators were equipped with sizing options that were deemed ‘standard,’ but the results were inevitably slightly off for everybody)
  * Finish setting in new, wider uniform sleeves for Chief O’Brien, Savannah, and Susan from the tech team. And install some pockets.
  * Finish and send off an “extremely daring” (her words) dress design to Lwaxana Troi for approval. The gown in question featured several carefully placed geometric cutouts throughout the bodice.
  * Draw up patterns for O’Brien and Doctor Bashir’s new holodeck costumes - some kind of historical fiction called “Batman,” more trashy Terran vigilante justice nonsense. Julian had requested some rather fetching robes to play “Ra’s Al Ghul” though, and Garak had some quite elaborate plans for that particular outfit.
  * Some sort of harness for a Bolian gentleman, for use in the holodecks. A discreet pickup time had been requested.



Alterations were the fastest - at this point Garak fancied he could eyeball any of his repeat customers’ changes in his sleep. Not that he would actually do that. He had standards. 

Among the neatly folded pile of uniforms was a sweater with a distinctly Bajoran look to it, that must have been dropped off after hours last night. There was a note in his messages from Major Kira telling him to darn the elbows with as much care and precision as he possibly could. Along with the frigid tone of the communication came an unspoken “or else” tacked on at the end, so the garment must have some kind of sentimental value to it. Garak inspected the garment closely, confirming the wear in the elbows. And at the cuffs. And at the collar. There were a few threads at the hem, too, that looked like they were ready to start unravelling. He sent a quick message off to confirm that he had received the garment, and that the elbows would indeed be patched up as good as new. If she noticed he’d fixed up everything else too, well, that was more due to his own vanity as a good tailor and she could make of that what she would.

*

“Do you have this in something a little less drab? A nice yellow, perhaps? That would liven it up a little,” said the Arbazan woman, turning around to look at her reflection from the side. Garak winced internally at the thought - the fabric had a coppery shimmer to it, threaded through with alternating gold and rust-red fibers. There was some small metallic component to the fibers, something that made them hold their shape extraordinarily well, and moulded perfectly to the body of the wearer.

“I’m afraid this garment only comes in this colour - they don’t make this particular textile any other way.”

“Well surely you can source something similar in a different colour,” said the woman, standing front on and smoothing her hands down the sides of the dress. It really was a stunning fit, but it would look absolutely atrocious in yellow.

“I could certainly make you a dress in yellow, but I can assure you that it wouldn’t ever look the same - you see, the metallic components in the-”

“I’m not interested in your tailor-talk,” she said, waving a hand dismissively at him, “but I can’t see why you won’t just do what I ask you to. Find me something that you _can_ make me in yellow in that case, off you go!”

Garak inclined his head politely, turned on his heel, exited the fitting room, and let out a long exhale through gritted teeth. He went over to his computer terminal and sent a quick communication through to Doctor Bashir to tell him he wouldn’t be able to make it for lunch today. The Arbazan woman had been here for an hour already trying on clothes, asking for alterations and opinions (none of which she was interested in hearing, unless they were complimentary) and just generally not being content to simply _browse_. What was more, she seemed to be incapable of hanging anything up when she was done with it. At the risk of starting an altercation, Garak was feeling the urge to kick her out of the store. 

“Are you alright there Garak?” 

Julian Bashir was standing in the middle of his shop, holding a plate of what looked like chocolate chip cookies. He was also wearing a hideous turquoise Starfleet dress uniform. A smile spread across Garak’s face.

“Madam, I’m afraid somebody with an actual booking for a consultation has arrived, and I will need the fitting room. You will need to relegate yourself to trying your own clothes on at this point.”

“What? But I was here first!” spluttered the voice from behind the curtain, “you can’t kick me out! I haven’t even spent any money yet!”

“Yes, that’s the problem,” muttered Garak, earning himself a grin from Julian.

With the Arbazan woman out the door in a huff and the fitting room tidied, Garak finally turned his attention to his young friend. Julian was sat awkwardly on the very edge of Garak’s cutting desk, his long legs sticking out at odd angles to keep himself balanced there.

“So my dear, are you going to tell me why you’re wearing that atrocity today instead of your slightly less offensive work uniform?” said Garak, nabbing himself a cookie. He’d been so preoccupied today he hadn’t eaten yet.

“I forgot to tell you,” said Julian, “we’re receiving some of the Bolian ambassadors today, and Sisko wants all of the senior staff there to welcome them - we’ve all been assigned someone to show around the station.”

Julian was subconsciously rubbing his hands together in some sort of a nervous gesture as he said this. He tugged at his sleeve cuff and winced.

“Haven’t you received ambassadors before? On several occasions? I’ve never seen you in one of these before,” Garak tilted his head to the side, trying to remember if he was perhaps mistaken.

“Yes, well. Commander Sisko insisted this time - I’ve, heh… I’ve actually been telling him that I misplaced mine.”

“My _dear_ Doctor,” said Garak, his voice heavy with serious concern, “that’s a worry - what a terrible lie, given that you have replicators at your disposal.”

“Oh stop it Garak,” said Julian with a laugh. There was something odd about the way he laughed today, something oddly stilted and stiff that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was to do with the way he was sitting too, all awkward angles, like he didn’t want to bend any of his joints.

“Just how uncomfortable is that dreadful thing?” said Garak, scanning the garment up and down. It certainly looked more fitted than the usual jumpsuit he wore.

“It’s fine, I just - I haven’t worn one in a long time, that’s all,” said Julian. Garak didn’t like that one bit. Julian was meant to be animated - he was made to fling his arms around in excitement, and to make exclamations, and gesture wildly. This oddly subdued version of his friend was upsetting.

“Which parts of it are the worst? Is it lined?” pressed Garak, reaching out to examine the sleeves. Julian let him, though he rolled his eyes.

“I told you, it’s fine. It’s just… a little tight around the shoulders is all. Makes it hard to move. And the lining is-” he shuddered, clenching and unclenching his fists. Garak slipped a finger under the cuff of his sleeve and felt around. Ah yes, some sort of awful synthetic material. The thought of the awful, plasticky rustling of it set his teeth on edge. Julian snatched his hand back.

“The lining is terrible, my condolences,” said Garak, “and might I hazard a guess that the reason why you seem so reluctant to actually move around at all is because it feels terrible on your skin when you move?”

There it was, one of Julian’s genuine smiles - a small one, but the warmth in it lit up his eyes.

“Lucky guess, I suppose,” he said.

“What else?” said Garak, “aside from it being made out of terribly unsuitable materials?”

“Well, I guess…” said Julian slowly, “I guess the worst part is actually the cuffs. I mean there’s nothing _wrong_ with the cut per se, but I just can’t stand the feeling of anything chafing at my wrists, and there’s a seam right there that just-”

“Say no more, Doctor. How long do you have until you’ve got to meet the ambassadors?”

Julian blinked, “er, about twenty minutes? Why-”

“Take that off, I won’t be a moment.”

“What? No - Garak, you can’t possibly - I’m going to be late!”

“Only if you dawdle. Come on, you can use the changerooms if you’re afraid of being immodest, or whatever it is you Terrans are so finicky about.”

While Julian was taking the uniform off, Garak set about pulling out some squares of the medical blue fabric from his alterations stash, and cutting off a few handspans of the thin, extremely soft, black Vitarian wool he knew was in his storeroom. 

“Here you go,” called Julian. His hand emerged from the curtains, holding his uniform out. Garak fought the urge to laugh out loud at the sight, but he took the odd garment anyway. He had been right - the whole thing felt awful, unnecessarily stiff everywhere, and just generally itchy and uncomfortable. 

He could, at least, do this one thing. He unpicked the stitching between the lining and the sleeve cuff and attached a small extra strip of the uniform blue fabric, enough to elongate the cuff so that it would sit just over the doctor’s wrist. Then he attached the wool where the lining would have gone and nestled it back into the sleeve, attaching the bottom edge of the wool to the inner lining. Was it a great piece of work? No. But it would go mostly unnoticed, and it would at least give the poor doctor some relief.

“Garak, I don’t mean to hurry you, but I really-”

“Finished!” exclaimed Garak, snipping off a loose thread. He passed the garment back through the curtains and a couple of minutes, Julian stepped back through. He wiggled his arms a bit, and gasped with delight at how they felt.

“Oh, it’s so soft now! And did you make them slightly longer? Oh, I could kiss you-” he said breathlessly, rolling his wrists around. Already he seemed slightly more relaxed, and Garak felt a warm satisfaction spread through his chest.

“Perhaps another time doctor - you’d better be off, or you’re going to be late!” 

Julian’s eyes widened as he realised that he likely already was.

“ThankyousomuchGarakI’llmakethisuptoyouyou’rethebest, bye!” 

And with that, he was out the door.

*

An hour or so later, Garak finally pressed send on his finished design for Lwaxana Troi. He got up and stretched, and decided it was time to get something to eat that wasn’t chocolate chip cookies, no matter how good they were. At that moment, he happened to look up, and out of the open door of his shop he spied three young Bajoran boys standing on the other side of the walkway. They were making a very poor pretense at nonchalance, and the two taller boys seemed to be egging the smaller one on to do something. The younger boy was shaking his head vehemently. One of the taller boys, who had shaggy dark brown hair and the kind of stance that suggested a youthful overconfidence, sneered at the smaller boy and pointed very obviously at his shop. The words scrawled across his doors from this morning flashed through his head, and he huffed out a laugh of disbelief, then went to grab the plate of remaining cookies.

“Hello my dears,” he said, emerging from the doorway of his shop with his friendliest smile plastered across his face. The three youths seemed frozen to the spot, their eyes wide. 

“I seem to have found myself in something of a predicament - a good friend of mine has brought me far too many cookies, and I simply can’t eat them all. You all seem interested enough in my shop already, why don’t you help me finish them off?”

The three boys’ eyes went, if possible, even wider.

“S-sorry mister,” said the tallest one, “we’re not hungry!”

“Well, isn’t that a shame. You’d best run along now, hmm? Shouldn’t you be at school?”

Without replying, all three boys bolted for it. Garak rolled his eyes and closed up for his lunch break.

*

“Garak!” 

Garak’s head jerked up at the exclamation, his magnification glasses slipping off his nose. Keiko was in his shop, a grin on her face that crinkled her eyes at the corners as she headed for his work bench. He did marvel at the warmth she treated him with, when her husband Miles was so… well, _Miles_.

“Mrs O’Brien, it’s lovely to see you - I assume you’re here to pick up your husband’s uniform?”

“That’s the one, thank you so much for your help!” she said, tucking it under her arm without inspecting it. Garak raised an eye ridge at that but said nothing.

“How’s business today Garak?” she said, leaning her elbows on his workbench and propping her chin up. Garak gave her a secretive smile.

“Now now Mrs O’Brien, a good tailor never reveals his secrets.”

Keiko laughed out loud at that, “what secrets? Whether you’re having a good day or not?”

Garak placed a hand on his chest in mock offence, “you never know what comments might start making the rounds on the promenade! Why, imagine I told you I’d had a terrible day, and then you discovered that it had been one of your dear botanist friends who had been in my shop earlier! Or your husband!”

Keiko gasped, trying her best to keep a straight face, “you didn’t put a ‘dear’ in front of my husband - that must mean you hate him!”

“Exactly! You’d better leave soon, before someone finds out you’ve visited the Cardie tailor.”

The smile dropped from Keiko’s face immediately.

“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that about yourself,” she said. Garak inclined his head politely.

“My apologies, it was… a joke too far, perhaps.”

“Darn right it is,” she said, poking him playfully in the arm, “listen, I’ve got to head home, but thank you so much for doing this!”

“It’s what I’m paid for, Mrs O’Brien,” said Garak, and then he paused.

“Mrs O’Brien, can I ask - do you know of three young Bajoran boys who might go to your school? I suspect that they tend to work together - two taller ones and a smaller one… the tallest one has dark brown-”

“Oh, that’d be Roju, Alka, and the little one’s name is Panyi. Why, have you seen them around? They were late back after lunch today, the cheeky…” Keiko seemed to put two and two together, and her eyes narrowed.

“Have they been giving you trouble? I’ll have a word with them if that’s the case, that’s really not on for them to be bothering you.”

“Oh please no, it’s no trouble - they were just ogling my shop a few hours ago. Probably trying to get a glimpse of the big, scary Cardassian.”

“Stop it,” said Keiko, “I mean it! You’re not that scary.” 

“Of course not, Mrs O’Brien,” said Garak, waving her goodbye as she left. He sighed as the doors slid shut behind her.

*

It was getting late, and Garak was about to close up for the afternoon when he got a message back from Lwaxana Troi. She was absolutely delighted with the design and would like it made up as soon as possible. A movement outside on the promenade caught his eye, and he looked up, only to see the three boys from earlier - Roju, Alka, and Panyi. The two older boys - which one was Roju and which one was Alka he couldn’t say - were jostling Panyi, and talking sternly to him, pointing at the shop. Garak mapped out a very quick plan in his head, packed away his remaining materials, and made a big show of exiting his shop while looking down at a PADD, pretending as though he was engrossed in whatever happened to be on it at the time (which was, he realised when he turned the screen on, a simulation of Lwaxana Troi in her “extremely daring” gown). He hummed to himself as he left the shop, making sure to very obviously forget to close it. He made his way down to the end of the promenade, turned right, and then went straight back to the access corridor that spanned along the backs of all of the promenade shops. It was a little too narrow for his particular preferences, but tonight he could steel himself for it, if only to eliminate a problem before it got any worse.

The back door to the shop opened into his storeroom, and immediately Garak heard the whispers of the children inside.

“There, I did it, can we go now?” pleaded the first voice, small and high-pitched. Panyi, he guessed.

“No! You’ve gotta take something!” One of the other boys said, “it’s bad enough you brought us in here with you in the first place!”  
“What if he finds out?” said Panyi, panic creeping into his voice.

Garak coughed loudly, and stepped out into the room. Panyi screamed, and the other two looked like they were about to cry.

“Hello there! What are you all doing in my shop after hours?” said Garak, tilting his head to the side. He kept his distance, staying across the room from the children. Seeing the terror in their eyes sent a twist of something uncomfortable through his stomach and he sat down on the floor instead, crossing his legs.

“Now, what is it that you’re all in here for?”

“We, er-” said one of the taller boys

“We just wanted to look around!” said the other, the one with the long hair.

“Oh! Well why didn’t you say so!” said Garak, his eyes alight with mischief, “I’m always happy to show customers around the store. What is it that you’re interested in?” 

The boys looked at each other, nudging Panyi to say something.

“I like warm jumpers,” he took a shaky breath, “especially if they’ve got cool patterns on them.”

“Oh dear,” said Garak, “I don’t think I’ve got any of those. How terrible of me! You’ll have to tell me what they look like.”

“I saw one,” said Panyi, “and it looked like… uh… it was blue. And it had stripes like a zig zag on it, in lots of different colours.”

Garak nodded thoughtfully.

“I think I can picture what you mean. Perhaps I’ll see about having those in my store. Now what about you two?” said Garak, looking at Roju and Alka.

“We, uh… we’re just helpin’ him browse.” 

“What _good_ friends you are. But you have no interest in clothing at all?” Garak fixed them with a stare. 

“N-no, we’re very interested!” 

“Yeah, your clothes are real interesting!” the two replies came quickly, tumbled over each other. Garak’s face broke into a smile.

“Wonderful! Let me tell you a bit about what I’ve got in here, hm?”

*

Garak told them everything. In fact, he went through his entire floor stock with them - fabrics, fashions, different cuts… anything he could think of. To his credit, Panyi looked absolutely fascinated by it all, but Roju and Alka fidgeted as the lecture went on, their gazes flickering towards the door with increasing frequency. There were, of course, too afraid to make a run for it. Towards the end of a solid hour of this, Garak’s voice was beginning to get croaky, and so he decided enough was enough.

“Well, hopefully that clears up some of your questions,” he said, extending a hand to them. Panyi shook it eagerly, followed by the slightly more reluctant other boys.

“Thanks, mister!” said the little boy

“You may call me Garak,” he said

“And I’m Panyi!”

“Delighted to meet you, Panyi,” said Garak, “but I think it’s time you all ran along home, hmm?”

“Uhh, yeah! We’re gonna… do that. Bye Mister Garak,” said the older boy with the brown hair. The three of them wandered to the door.

“Goodbye Panyi. Goodbye Roju. And goodbye Alka!”

The two older boys turned to look at him over their shoulders, their eyes wide as saucers. As soon as the doors slid open, they bolted for it, their metallic footfalls echoing across the Promenade. Garak couldn’t help himself, he burst out laughing.

*

“Garak!”

Garak’s head jerked up somewhat sluggishly. He’d been up all night drawing up designs for a new dress uniform for Julian - he had his materials all planned; fabrics that were soft and breathable but as close to indistinguishable as he could get, slightly more room in the wrists and at the throat, as much elongation in the sleeves as he could get away with-

“... Garak?”

“Hmm!” Garak blinked the fuzziness out of his eyes and looked up into the bemused features of the other schoolteacher on the station, Robertson. They were tapping a PADD against their chin.

“You alright there? You look like you were about to fall asleep!”

“Oh no, far from it. You know these embroidery sections are so repetitive, you end up in a bit of a trance, you see-” 

Concern crept into Robertson's voice, “Garak, you’re patching up a sweater.” 

Major Kira’s sweater! Garak shook his head to wake himself up a little.

"I assure you, I'm fine. A little tired perhaps."

“Ah alright, well I won’t take up too much of your time, but I just wanted to show you something.”

They slid the PADD at him, and Garak squinted down at the image.

It was a child’s drawing, though it was drawn well enough to make out the figure of a tiny bajoran boy (distinguishable by the extremely bold v-shapes drawn across the face) and a much taller Cardassian man - quite comically so; the boy seemed to barely be knee height. The Cardassian was mostly distinguishable by the spoon shape on his forehead, as the boy seemed to have elected to render all of his other distinguishing features in grey scribbles. It was an attempt, at least. Both figures were wearing matching sweaters, royal blue, with zig zags in lots of colours. 

“Do you have an explanation for this? It’s amazing.” said Robertson

“I do,” said Garak with a smile, “but a good tailor never reveals his secrets.”


End file.
